


Daily Special

by incendiary1 (trycatpennies)



Category: White Collar
Genre: Feeding, Gen, Pre-Threesome, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-02
Updated: 2012-09-02
Packaged: 2017-11-13 09:45:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trycatpennies/pseuds/incendiary1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter and Elizabeth put the Burke Plan To Fatten Neal Up into effect. They neglect to tell Neal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daily Special

**Author's Note:**

> This is pre-threesome gen fic, there's implied possibility of there being more between the three of them than we know. 
> 
>  
> 
> From the White Collar Kink Meme:
> 
>  
> 
> _I would forever love to read some weight gain for Neal. Perhaps he has to put on some pounds for an undercover case. Maybe El simply thinks he's gotten too thin lately. Maybe he has gotten too thin lately and has just recovered from some illness or injury that decreased his appetite. Whatever the reason, any fic where Peter and/or El are cajoling, coercing, encouraging Neal to eat more would completely make my day._
> 
>  
> 
> _Bonus points for:  
>  Neal being concerned about the fit of his suits  
> Peter and/or El actually feeding a reluctant Neal at some point  
> Peter giving positive feedback on Neal's softer body  
> _

"Neal, eat," El commands. Neal looks up from his plate, turning his face to Elizabeth. She's sitting at the kitchen island, her book in her hands, a glass of wine at her side. It's late, past dinner, but Peter'd brought Neal home after a long stakeout followed by a stressful takedown. Peter'd known that otherwise Neal wouldn't have eaten at all. 

"It's delicious, El, I'm just- I'm not hungry." 

It's not particularly a lie. He's not hungry, but he's not interested in too closely examining the reason why. He knows El and Peter are both worried about him. He knows he's lost weight, that his suits are a little less fitted. He's been having trouble sleeping-

"Neal," El says, and he hadn't even noticed her moving, but she's at his side now, bent at the waist, her arms around his shoulder. "Sweetheart, just eat something. For me? Please." 

He nods, tired, and takes a few more bites.

-

Dinner at the Burke's becomes a weekly occasion. Then twice, then three times and by two months later he's there four nights a week. Neal eats better (and more) than he has in the past year; pastas and hearty meat and potatoes type meals. Family food. Something he's never really had. But El and Peter make him feel at home, like this is his home, and it snaps something in him. His appetite returns, he takes seconds (sometimes thirds, especially if it's El's homemade pizza) and he doesn't regret it. Especially not when Peter looks so pleased when he does it, and El looks so flattered and proud. 

It doesn't bother him until he can't button one of the vests from his closet one day. It's a three piece suit, he doesn't wear them often, and granted this is one of the smaller ones. It's always been a little more fitted, but- It still bugs him, and he changes, but he spends the rest of the day glancing at himself in mirrors wherever he goes, preoccupied with how he's carrying the extra weight, if it's changing how his suits fit.

"What's up, Neal?" Peter asks at lunch, while they're digging into sandwiches. El made them; leftover roast beef, with potato salad on the side. She's a sweetheart, Neal's even has extra pickles. "You're not eating."

"You're going to laugh," Neal says, picking at his sandwich. Peter sets his own down and shakes his head. 

"Promise I won't. Tell me."

"I couldn't fit into my suit this morning," Neal sighs and Peter doesn't laugh. He looks a little amused, maybe. But mostly he looks gratified. "What?"

"Nothing, it's just. That's good, Neal. El and I were getting worried, you were getting so thin. I'm just glad to see our plan is working."

"Your plan?"

"Oh, uh. Yeah," Peter says, and he looks a little abashed. "Having you over for dinner more, cooking your favourite foods and making sure those foods were maybe a little heavier than usual. I mean, when's the last time we ate a salad, Neal?"

Neal can't remember, and feels a flare of anger, but quashes it. It's ill-placed. Peter and Elizabeth were worried, and they helped him. And he _does_ feel better, too small suits be damned.

"Thanks, Peter," Neal says, honestly. He picks up his sandwich. "To successful plans."

-

"One more bite, Neal, come on," El says, playfully. Neal bats her hand away, weakly. He's grinning though. There's two empty bottles of wine on the counter, their dinner dishes abandoned at the table, and they're eating homemade lemon ice cream on the couch. Or rather, they had been eating it, and now Peter's given up, and El's trying to get Neal to at least finish his bowl.

"El, there's no room left," he pleads for mercy, wrapping a hand around her wrist. "I'll explode."

"One more bite, Neal? Please? It'll make me happy," El's voice is a little lower, a little more desperate and Neal blinks at her, the play gone out of him. He nods, feels his heartbeat pick up, pulse jumping in his throat. He opens his mouth, obeisant, and lets her slide the spoon of ice cream into it. It's delicious, better than he'd though, and he groans, closing his eyes. When he opens them again, swallowing around the spoon, El is looking at him hotly, face flushed. 

Neal doesn't look at Peter, terrified of (wanting) finding the same look there. 

-

They all ignore it, mostly. Neal keeps coming for dinner, keeps eating anything they give him, occasionally off Peter's fork, or El's fingers. They don't talk about it, about how it's making any of them feel. 

-

Neal's just leaving Peter's office, buttoning his peacoat tight (too tight, now?) around himself. It's January in New York, which means it's freezing and Neal's not looking forward to the commute home. 

"Are you coming for dinner tonight?" Peter asks, just before Neal gets the door open. 

"It's not our usual night," Neal answers. It's not a yes or no, either way. 

"I know," Peter says, and Neal turns and looks at him, leaning against the door of Peter's office, waiting for the explanation. "I like having you there."

Neal nods, and he smiles, soft. 

"I like being there," he says, and he unbuttons his coat, sighing a little in relief. "I need a new coat, this one is too tight. Hell, all my clothes are too tight, thanks to the famous Burke Feeding Plan."

Peter flushes, and Neal quirks another smile. He likes Peter when he's bashful. 

"Yeah, well. It looks good on you," Peter answers, gruff. He doesn't look at Neal, so he doesn't see the surprise cross Neal's face, before his expression changes to a fond look. 

"Thanks, Peter. I'll text El, tell her I'm coming. Ten minutes?"

"Ten minutes."

-

He does end up buying a new coat. New suits, which El comes and helps him pick out. He doesn't fit in any of them anymore, but it's hard to be upset, hard to be mad. The softness at his hips, his face- they don't make him angry. They remind him just how much Peter and Elizabeth care about him. He'll buy a thousand new suits, as long as he keeps getting to come for dinner.


End file.
